


Take The Wheel

by edenbound



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenbound/pseuds/edenbound
Summary: Crowley gave up rather easily during that phone call, Aziraphale thinks. He'd expected Crowley to push a little, make a bit of a temptation out of it. He was almost disappointed that he didn't.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 161
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	Take The Wheel

**Author's Note:**

> Follows the [Good Omens: Lockdown](https://twitter.com/neilhimself/status/1256191656359010304) dialogue, fixing the fact that Aziraphale says no to Crowley coming over. Bet I'm not the only one doing this!
> 
> Obviously the entire existence of the fic requires knowing the circumstances we're all facing at the moment with the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic. I've avoided mentioning that in any other fic and to be quite honest I've avoided anything mentioning it in my fandoms. I've kept it vague here, but pleaaaaase stay away if the whole thing makes you too anxious to bear. Been there, got the meds, the t-shirt's delayed in the mail.

Aziraphale is not terribly surprised when he peeks out through the blinds to see the Bentley sat outside the shop, less than a week after he so firmly told Crowley that staying together would be out of the question. He's a little more surprised to see Crowley just sat there gripping the steering wheel, but it does give him a moment to get the place ready. Some of the books are surprised to find themselves suddenly being tidied away; a plate of crumbs is frankly scandalised to find itself entirely crumbless and tucked away in the very nice box it came in, as though it was nothing but a display piece! The cakes neatly arrange themselves into a pile, and a careful observer would note that they're almost puffing up with pride, unaware that Crowley is not a very usual sort of visitor and won't require any sustenance (nor, like Aziraphale, does he derive _comfort_ from a plate of baked goods).

It's all very tidy all of a sudden, at least by Aziraphale's standards; a comfortable disorder, rather than the cake-and-literature debauchery that had been rioting quietly through the space.

The clock's tick is really very loud, and Crowley still hasn't come to the door. Aziraphale sits down and picks up one of his books. Puts it down again immediately. He's immediately visited by the worry that Crowley's _gone_ \-- or worse, that it was some kind of dream, though he isn't normally subject to that kind of indignity.

He has been aware, for a day or two now, of no longer being sufficient unto himself. Perhaps if this had happened a century or two ago... But he was disappointed when Crowley gave up on his offer of company so easily, even if he was too slow to name that sensation. And he was glad, seeing Crowley outside, that Crowley hadn't listened. That he was pushing the boundary, as he has been doing for so long, until their lives have rubbed up against each other, without Aziraphale ever quite letting him in.

Aziraphale thinks of Crowley's hands clenched on the steering wheel, and sighs.

* * *

Tap, tap, tap.

Crowley looks up, expecting to meet the eyes of some police officer, concerned or admonitory about Crowley being out and about. He's been planning for it, honestly, and he almost unleashes the demoniac illusion at --

Aziraphale. 

"Are you going to come in, dear?" the angel asks, mildly.

* * *

There's somehow no room to talk, before they're safely inside the shop. Crowley has a case of something drinkable, as promised, and Aziraphale carries it in the human way -- or almost the human way: he is far stronger than any human could hope, and carries the case inside without any effort whatsoever. Crowley also has a bag or several of groceries, including far too many eggs, every last bag of flour the shop had, several kinds of sugar, novelty cake decorations, cupcake wrappers printed with floral designs; this he brings inside himself, with a little more effort, cringing at his own presumption in coming, in imagining that Aziraphale would --

"I am glad to see you, you know."

"What?" 

"I'm glad to see you. I was -- I was wrong, to tell you to stay away. I've missed you."

Crowley puts the bag down. His chest feels almost tight. "You -- right."

"And it occurs to me that -- well -- I think I was expecting you to put up more of a fight about coming over," Aziraphale says. He's looking down, and his hands are twisting together a little; he fidgets with his ring, turning it around and around. "I was expecting you to, oh, _tempt_ me into it. And I'd have given in. There's very little you couldn't talk me into, I think."

"That's... I didn't think you'd want me to push, not... with everything going on."

"You've been holding back ever since... well." Aziraphale takes a breath and finally looks up, his jaw jutting stubbornly. "Since I was so callous to you at the bandstand. Crowley, dear..."

Crowley takes a deep breath. Another. "Angel?"

"You are my best friend, and I've missed you, and I was a -- an _arsehole_." He looks ready to smite someone, but his lower lip is trembling. "You're more than a friend to me. Crowley, darling, you're -- you're all I have left, in fact."

"The bookshop," Crowley protests, even as he's moving toward Aziraphale. Like a compass to the magnetic north, like a bird flying home, each step easier. "Books, food, I'm sure there are some humans you're fond of. Madame Tracy."

"I am very fond of her," Aziraphale agrees, "but she's human. A bookshop is just a bookshop. You mean so very much -- " He stops, shakes his head, tries again. "You mean everything to me, Crowley."

"Angel -- "

Aziraphale puts a hand up to stop him. Crowley is so close now that Aziraphale's fingers are in fact trembling just a breath away from his mouth. Aziraphale's eyes are unbearably, blue and calm and staring straight into Crowley's. His sunglasses are no proof against that look, which seems to know him and judge him and find him not wanting but worthy, somehow finally worthy.

"It's my turn to push things further, I think. You've been doing it so long on your own," Aziraphale says. "My dear... I love you desperately."

It burns through him like a slug of scotch, warming him from the inside. For a moment Crowley's corporation forgets how to move, how to breathe, how to make sound. And then he's in Aziraphale's arms, kissing and kissing him. He tastes like old cocoa and a nibble of icing, and he feels like everything Crowley has been denied, everything he has been burning and yearning for since before he fell, since before he set the stars alight, since before he can _remember_.

When they stop, they almost _fall_ away from each other, shaken by the intensity of it, both panting and flushed. For a moment, they just look at one another, and then Aziraphale moves, snatching the glasses from Crowley's face and kissing his forehead, his closed eyelids, his nose; brushing his lips along Crowley's cheekbones. It is somehow exactly like the rapt hunger Aziraphale displays when he has just tasted something new, something sublime. Crowley _feels_ sublime in Aziraphale's arms, aflame under his lips.

"We should, ah, we should go to the bedroom, if you have one. I know how we can spend the time in lockdown," Crowley says, as Aziraphale's teeth nibble along his jawbone, find a spot behind the corner of his jaw that makes him gasp. He's trying to be smart, trying to get control of the situation back. He has been steering them for so long --

And Aziraphale has taken the wheel, and has plans of his own. "Yes," he agrees, slipping buttons free to open Crowley's shirt, mouthing at the hollow at the base of his throat and rumbling a noise of pleasure last heard over the best Black Forest gâteau he'd ever tasted. "But we're going to start right here."

It's going to be a long lockdown. If Aziraphale has his way, there'll be no time to be bored. They might not even get to opening that case of wine.

Ah well. It'll keep.


End file.
